My apartment door slid open with a tired hiss, barely reacting to the sluggish swipe of my wristband. The lights flicked on automatically, like they were trying not to bother me. They knew the mood.
I kicked my shoes off with a grunt, letting them land wherever gravity wanted them. The quiet hum of the air recycler was the only welcome-home greeting I got. No pet running to the door. No messages blinking on my console. Just me, again, and the ticking silence that came with the realization that this might be the last night Earth would know peace.
It was already the 16th of July, at least for the western half of the world. Across the oceans, timelines had already ticked past midnight. The news feeds were buzzing with people counting down, dancing, crying, meditating, even holding hands in mass vigils beneath reconstructed city towers. But nothing had happened.
Not yet.
And the reason was ridiculous: the Second Thauma was somehow locked to Singapore's time system. Because of course it was. Out of all the cities that rebuilt civilization, this one had the timestamp of fate.
I dropped face-first onto my bed and groaned into the covers. My body ached in places I didn't know I could ache. My mind felt like mush. But mostly, I just wanted to forget that I had exactly nine hours left before 8:00 AM, the predicted hour of the next Calamity.
I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling.
"Eight, huh," I whispered. "How poetic. Nice and punctual. The end of the world with a goddamn alarm clock."
Eventually, I slid off the bed and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor to the kitchen. If I was gonna die tomorrow, I wasn't dying sober.
The fridge opened with a soft hydraulic hiss, and there they were: six little cans of beer, stashed for a birthday I never celebrated. I grabbed three. I didn't care if it made me look desperate. What were consequences anymore?
Back in the living room, I dropped to the floor, spine against the wall, legs outstretched, cracking open the first can with the reverence of a tired priest. Foam fizzled over the rim. I wiped it with the back of my hand and took a long, burning swig.
It tasted cheap.
"I'm gonna die," I said out loud to no one, voice echoing faintly in the still apartment.
People used to tell me I was lucky.
"You were exposed to the ABR for days. A 9.3 rating, that's insane!"
Yeah. So lucky.
A 9.3 out of 10. That meant I soaked in the Ashven Blood Rain like a sponge during the 42-day extinction event. If the Flux system was to be trusted, I should've been a walking force of nature, someone whose power could bend steel and silence armies.
Instead?
Super strength. Enhanced senses. And that's it.
Not even enough to qualify for the elite forces. My Flux had never kicked in. Not once. Ten years and nothing. They ran every scan, every resonance pulse, every spectral tap imaginable. I was listed as "Dormant High-Tier," which basically meant "Congratulations, you're full of potential you'll never access."
Meanwhile, some punk with a 3.1 rating was now commanding lightning with her fingertips.
But hey, it didn't really bother me anymore. I stopped caring sometime between year three and year four, right around when the world stopped asking if I'd "awakened yet."
The second beer went down easier. The third was halfway empty before I even realized I'd opened it.
The stars outside the window were faint, choked by the light of the Flux Beacon, but still there, winking like stubborn little rebels in the void.
I pulled my knees up and rested my arms over them, letting the beer dangle from one hand.
"If I die tomorrow, at least I won't have to give another tour."
That was dark humor. Classic me. Mira would've laughed.
No one's going to miss me. Not really. I wasn't important. Just a voice, a walking guidebook with a decent smile and no tragic backstory beyond everyone I knew is dead. That's normal now. I didn't cry. Not because I was brave, but because the sadness had fermented into something else over the years.
"I'm ready," I whispered, resting my head against the wall. "Whatever's next. Come and get me."
And slowly, my eyes drifted closed.
I fell asleep on the floor with one last thought flickering in my brain like a dying ember:
If I die tomorrow, maybe… I'll finally be something more than forgotten.
------
BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.
My alarm buzzed like a mosquito from hell, dragging me from the deep, dreamless pit I had crashed into. I groaned, one hand groping blindly until I smacked the little device off the table beside the bed. It hit the floor with a plastic thud and kept buzzing.
I pried one eye open. 7:55 AM.
Five minutes to the apocalypse.
"God," I muttered, dragging myself upright and wincing as my spine cracked. "Couldn't even let me die in my sleep, huh?"
My mouth tasted like rust and stale beer. My head throbbed like a drum solo. I stretched, yawned, blinked blearily around the room and froze.
There was someone on my couch, sipping from one of my beer cans. She looked like a painting brought to life: six luminous wings folded behind her. A long, delicate veil flowed down her back, hair hidden beneath it, and a radiant visor covered her face like a high-tech crown worn by angels who didn't want to be recognized, but I knew exactly who she was.
I knew those wings. My stomach dropped straight into my legs.
It was her. The same angel who appeared ten years ago.
She took another sip, smacked her lips softly, and said,
"You really drink this crap?"
I couldn't even breathe.
"Your beer is cheap. You should buy more next time."
My voice croaked in protest.
"Wh… what the actual—?"
"You are awake," she said casually, ignoring my shock like she hadn't just broken into my apartment and made herself comfortable. "Perfect timing. Four minutes left."
"I—what the hell are you doing in my—?"
She stood as her wings expanded slightly, the tips brushing the ceiling before folding in again.
"You have quite the dramatic end-of-the-world energy in here. It is a little sad, honestly. Beer cans on the floor? Sleeping in your clothes? Tsk."
I scrambled to my feet, heart hammering, brain screaming.
"What do you want?! Are you here to kill me?!"
The seraph tilted her head slightly and though I couldn't see her eyes behind that shining visor, I could feel them.
"You know, that is the first thing most people say to me. Always so melodramatic. No, I am not here to kill you. I just… borrowed your couch."
"Borrowed—"
"For the night," she said, interrupting me. "It was comfy. And since I used your humble, beer-scented dwelling to nap, I figured I should reward you."
"Reward me?" I echoed, mouth dry.
"Yes. A wish. One wish. Anything reasonable."
That stopped me cold.
"You're kidding."
"I do not kid. Come now. Think. It's 7:57. You've got two and a half minutes. Ask me for anything… but do be realistic. I will not bring back the dead. I will not make you a god. And I definitely will not cancel the Second Thauma."
I stared at her, speechless. What do you even ask in a moment like that?
I could've said power. I could've asked for a legacy, for the love I never had, for vengeance, for meaning.
But what came out of my mouth… was the truth.
"I want to survive."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sera—because that's what she told me to call her, Sera from Seraph—threw her head back and laughed. Full-bodied, bright, beautiful laughter that filled the entire room with something warm and ancient.
"Oh," she sighed after a moment. "I like you."
I blinked. "Is... that a yes?"
She walked toward me, wings trailing light behind her. She raised a hand and placed it right over my chest.
"Wish granted," she whispered.
I felt nothing at first.
Then everything made me gasp.
Every nerve lit up. My breath caught. Something old and coiled inside me—dormant for a decade—suddenly woke up. Like a second heartbeat roaring into motion. My veins sang. My bones shivered. And behind my eyes, the world cracked open.
"See you on the other side," she murmured, turning away.
"Wait—what's happening to me?!"
Sera smiled over her shoulder, a soft tilt of her head.
"Your Flux has finally decided to say hello."
Then she vanished in a shimmer of wings and a ripple of space.
And the clock hit 8:00 AM.